“You can do anything for 1 minute,”

is still some of the hands down best advice I’ve ever gotten. Allow me to explain.

I was 24 and taking a birthing class to prepare for my first labor and delivery of our first son. Truthfully, I was terrified of the pain. I had done my research and read the horror stories. You see I’m a “prepper”/doomsday planner. The closer my due date got, the more I was filling with anxiety and dread. I was speaking to the R.N. who taught our class one day after some tears were shed in fear and she said something so POWERFUL:

“You can do anything for 1 minute.”

I wasn’t sure I caught her drift.
”Think about it this way. You don’t have to conquer it all at once. You just have to take it minute by minute. Your strongest, most intense contractions will last 60 seconds, then you’ll have a break where you can catch your breath. Then you’ll do it again. For 1 more minute. Don’t you think you can handle anything for 1 minute?”

To this day, this nurse has NO IDEA how pivotal this 5 minute interaction was for me. Her voice has echoed in my head during some of my most extreme physical and emotional challenges. It got me through 23 hours of horrific labor, shaking, drenched in sweat, positive I was going to crack a tooth from biting down so hard with pain so intense I couldn’t even open my eyes or speak. [hello failed epidural.] It got me through oral surgery when my local anesthesia wore off and no one believed me. Through asthma and panic attacks. It got me through toddler tantrums and helped me keep my cool through 6, 8, 10, and 12-year old outbursts by my lovely spirited humans. Through career challenges and biting my tongue.

Little did she know I deal with chronic migraines. I’m not talking about a “bad” headache. I’m talking about relentless, throbbing, pulsating, stabbing pain in your head; Nauseous, vomiting, shaking, sensory overload where a crack of light coming through a doorway feels like a police spotlight shining through your soul. The kind that makes me feel like every single strand of hair is a sharp needle piercing my skull, and a whisper sounds like an airhorn. The kind that makes me wish I was hospitalized so someone could DO SOMETHING to make it stop, where at times even dying sounds better than continuing on. I don’t say that lightly. If you know someone who deals with migraines, I mean this with every single cell of my body- they have wished at one point or another they could “just” die because the pain is so horrific, so debilitating, that death sounds like sweet relief rather than living through it. 11-out-of-10 on the pain scale.

Sometimes, my medications and homeopathic remedies can dull the pain or prevent it from escalating, but often they fail. Despite having lived with these since I was 16 (whoa, 21 years now), each one has me questioning what I did wrong to trigger it, and if maybe *this* one isn’t just a migraine, but perhaps a stroke, or similar that might be the end of me.

And yet, I can still hear that R.N.’s voice as I’m leaned over a toilet vomiting, shaking, writhing in pain “You can do anything for 1 minute.”

Two weeks ago was one of those days. I woke up with the start of a migraine. The pain in my head, tension in my neck, and mild nausea was all too familiar. I swallowed my meds, attempted a neck massage, applied my essential oils, jumped into a hot steamy shower, and hoped for the best. I left my house for work thinking this one was “only” a 5 or 6 out of 10 on the pain scale, it will probably get better if I just give my meds some time to kick-in. Twenty-five minutes later I was pulled over at an exit, puking out my car door on the side of the road. I knew this was the point of no return. I had to figure out how to get home, notify my supervisor, and fast before I ended up in the ER again. It would be easy to panic, I had done that before. Crying makes it worse. Puking again also makes it worse. So I controlled my breathing and told myself, “You can do this for 1 minute. Ok, breathe in. Shift to drive. Foot to gas pedal, turn around. Drive home. Breathe out. 1 mile. 1 minute. 1 mile. 1 minute. Don’t think about all 25 miles at once. Just 1 at a time. Pull over. I made it 5. Good Katie,” I told myself. “5 miles. 1 more. 1 mile. 1 minute. 1 mile. 1 minute.” Repeat.

And I made it.

You will too.

Today, or this week. Or the rest of this year. and next. For the rest of your life. You can do anything for 1 minute.